StockHOLMES Syndrome
by DollyFreckles
Summary: Two years after the fall John decides enough is enough. It's time to bring down the web that destroyed his friend. But someone is already on that job and will do anything to stop John from getting involved. After all he didn't fake his death for nothing!
1. Chapter One Let's get started

**AN - I hope I am able to write an enjoyable fan fiction, and really would adore any input or help on this as it's not really my forte.**

**Summary: Two years after the fall John decides enough is enough. It is time to bring down the web that destroyed his best friend. But someone is already on that job and will do anything to stop John from getting involved. After all he didn't fake his death to save his friends only to let them get themselves killed.**

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The bus journey felt longer than it needed to be but he couldn't justify a taxi when he was barely making rent. And the tube was just too crowded this time of day. Dr. Watson hated the crowded sardine cans most days but it was especially today the last thing the ex-army doctor wanted to be doing was to rub shoulders with the London public.

John took a deep breath as he glanced down the road as they passed St. Barts and despite that the knot in his stomach loosened over the two years since his friend's suicide it was still there and the memory had never faded. The realisation it wasn't an act, the desperation to get to him before he hit the ground, the bike and the blood...so much blood. He shook his head and turned away.

Carelessly folding the paper he had pretended to read on the bus he shoved it into his back pocket as the bus came to a halt. Grabbing his bag he didn't bother thanking the driver as he stepped onto the pavement, there really was no point since it was obvious the man behind the wheel couldn't care less.

Before his mind could wander onto any more torturous memories John's thoughts were interrupted. "John! Hey…" Greg Lestrade had spotted him from across the street and his half-jogged across to meet his friend. "Sorry, traffic's a nightmare. I know, damn stupid to own a car in London." John smiled politely in response.

"Yeah, that's alright. Least you don't have to deal with kids and their phones."

"Careful! You're beginning to sound like an old man." Greg chuckled but his expression soon sobered as he noticed John's empty smile as they approached the cemetery's gates. "How are you doing John?"

"Better than last year. Shall we go?" He opened the gates and waited for Lestrade to take the lead as he followed in afterwards. The two men made their way up the familuar path. While John had perhaps visited more often (at least once a week, perhaps more during particular trailing days) Lestrade would occasionally visit if a case played on his mind and he needed to clear his head.

"I was up here the other week, I bumped into Mrs Hudson, she seemed well." He offered in the way of light conversation. "How's her sister?"

"The surgery went well I hear, but she'll be in the hospital a few days. Mrs Hudson's gone to stay for a couple of weeks."

"She said." He smiled and nodded. "Glad to hear it went well." This was awkward. They both felt it but it always was until they reached the grave.

They walked the rest of the way in silence both stopping in front of the cold granite slate. Wordlessly John began to pull out and unfold the two portable stools.

"Cheers." Lestrade sat down as he brought the bag he carried onto his lap and pulled out flask of hot tea and three cups. After pouring himself and John a cup he placed the third cup next to the grave. John couldn't help but laugh and shake his head slightly.

"I can almost hear him call you an idiot." John chided and he leaned forward, cupping the hot tea in his hands.

"Yes, well he never understood sentiment." He tried to sound offended but couldn't hide the bright smile on his face. This was the moment things became easier, the walk to this spot was always awkward but the moment the two sat down and poured that third cup of tea things just felt easier. As if he was really there, ignoring them as he often did but still there.

After an hour of reminiscing and filling each other in of what the other was up to John rubbed his leg as he his expression grew serious. "Greg. I can't do this any more."

"Your leg hurting you? Well it's pretty cold and we've been here an hour come on lets-"

"No, no it not the damn leg." He snapped perhaps a little sharper than he intended to. Though his limp never fully returned it was more present that it had been while he had stayed with Sherlock. He sighed as his shoulders sagged. "Sorry didn't mean to snap."

"It's fine don't worry about it." He waited for John to explain what he did mean but an awkward silence was all that followed. "John, what is it?" He asked a little more sternly now.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes." He simply stated, avoiding eye contact with the DI.

"Wha- Oh John! Please tell me it's not you!" He groaned placing his head in his hands. "Bloody hell John I know you miss him but that God damn graffiti crap? What are you-" John quickly raised his hands I defence instantly realising that there was a misunderstanding.

"Hang on! I'm not a part of that, come on you know I'm not that stupid." He watched as relief washed over his friends face. "I do believe in him though. I just don't understand why," He took a shakey breath, "Why he did it."

"I know, me too mate." He rubbed his hands together, partly to keep them warm but mainly to give himself a distraction. This wasn't the first time this conversation had happened. "What did you mean you can't do this anymore." The worry was evident in his voice, his brow furrowed. It was no secret to Lestrade that John suffered from depression, and considering the end his housemate had met made talk like that even more worrying.

"Nothing like that. Sorry, uh I guess I'm not-" John starred at the stone in front of them. "Moriarty wasn't a lie. That blood on the roof, belonged to someone even if there was no body. I still don't understand why Sherlock tried to convince me he was a fraud. But its been two years now, I've gone over in my head a thousand times what he said to me and it still-" He coughed slightly to disguise the catch in his voice.

Lestrade kept silent, he had his own theory on why Sherlock had jumped that day but he never thought to share it with his friend in fear of upsetting him more. The consulting detective had been a genius, true, but he had been far from stable. Drugs, not eating, depression… the only thing that kept him from boredom was his damn cases and experiments. If Moriarty, the only man to equal Sherlock's intellect, had managed to convince Sherlock to doubt himself?

"Whichever way you look at it my best friend is dead and its Moriarty's fault. I can't just tell people he wasn't a fake anymore. I have to prove it! Sherlock wouldn't had quit if the roles were reversed, he'd be out there-" His arm shot out pointing no where in particular but highlighting the passion in his voice. "- bringing down that spider's criminal web."

"John, what are you saying? You can't just start investigating this, it's dangerous you could be killed!" The concern in his voice grew as he stood up and pointed to the grave. "Look what happened to him! Leave it to me and my division, I've been investigating Moriarty's crime ring for years. "

"And how far have you gotten?" A humorous laugh escaped his lips. "You can't stop me. I just wanted to let you know this is what I am doing. Next week I'm leaving Baker Street, I've already handed in my notice at the surgery last month."

"And what then? This is madness John! Do you expect to just walk up to some murderer and ask him to reveal all?"

"I know what I'm doing, Sherlock's notes were a bloody mess but the information was in there." He began to pack up his stool. "I'm asking for permission or favours I just thought you should know. I wanted to tell you here so, ah! This is stupid. But I wanted him to hear as well. To know I'm not giving up." As everything was packed away all Lestrade could do was stare at the doctor, mouth slightly agape. Finally as John turned to leave a firm hand grasped his shoulder.

"Alright mate, just be careful ok? And keep in contact, I'll help where I can." It was all he could say really, he knew there was nothing he could do to change this man's mind.

"Thanks… I appreciate that. I'll keep in touch." John walked across the graveyard, shoulders pulled back and head held high. He was glad he was doing this but he couldn't help the feeling that he was still only half of what he needed to be. He still needed Sherlock.

As John walked out of sight Lestrade turned back to the grave, his expression in turmoil as he considered what his friend had just announced. "You better keep an eye out for him too Sherlock, I have no wish to be visiting two friends in this damn place." He rubbed his eyes before the tears could well to the surface and pulled out his phone. Scrolling through his phone he found a number he had never thought he'd ever use, his finger hovered over the call button before deciding this was the right thing to do.

After only a second someone picked up on the other side. "Mycroft? I need your help… John needs your help."

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**Sorry I hope this wasn't too boring of a start for you all! This is my first attempt at fanfiction I just hope I can do it justice! Please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve, Id really appreciate any help :D**

**The next Chapter: In which John starts his quest to bring down the spider web but doesn't get very far before he is captured.**


	2. Chapter Two Keep hold of your Wallet!

Mycroft waited patiently in his study, one hard curled round the hook of his umbrella as he surveyed the view from his window. It was a dreary morning in London with dark clouds threatening rain it looked a lot later out than it was. There was a knock at the study door and he only half turned to call over his shoulder. "Come in."

"Good morning sir. I have that file you requested from Scotland Yard." A tall man entered, his lean frame clad in a dark suit as he walked towards his employer who only nodded his appreciation.

"Leave it on the desk, thank you." The younger man nodded and did as he was told but before he could ask anything else a quiet buzzing could be heard from Mycroft's front pocket. The older Holmes brother indicated the man to leave by nodding towards the door and only picked up his phone when he was sure he was alone.

"You got my message?" He answered knowing what a waste of time it was to utter any pleasantries such as hello.

"I did. You're not going to stop him?" A deep voice replied, a slight edge of agitation.

"I see no reason to, this could be the opportunity we've been searching for." But before he could explain his reasoning a grunt of annoyance escaped the caller's lips.

"No Mycroft. John is not to get involved in any of this mess. If you don't stop him I will." There was a dangerous tone in his voice that let Mycroft know he was being deadly serious.

"John has the chance to flush out Moran without you risking-"

"No." Came a curt reply to end the conversation and before Mycroft could continue he heard the dead tone of hung up phone. Rolling his eyes he pulled the phone from his ear and glanced down at the screen receiving a text before he could send one himself.

_If you won't keep John out of this I will. Do not get involved. You owe me._

_- SH. _

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John had packed lightly, he knew he would likely be on his feet a lot of the time so there really was no point in packing anything but the bare essentials. Perhaps the only luxury the blogger packed was his trusty laptop, though he told himself this was essential in his hunt. Even if a good ol' fashion journal was lighter to carry. Sherlock's notes had been re-typed into something far more coherent with his own notes added he had a few ideas where to start first.

Not wanting to operate from Baker Street he checked into a poorly furbished B&B just outside London, the true mystery being why the hell people would ever think owning the bed and breakfast in such a run down area was a good idea. Though, that being said he had chosen to stay there. There was no internet connection, and his dongle provided a limited connection at best which he found frustrating but he had lived without the internet before and would do so again. He placed his backpack on the bed, the laptop on the pillow and began to scroll through the notes on his laptop. He tried to keep positive, he had a few places he could start really… "Who am I kidding?" He muttered to himself as he closed the lap top. He had notes, sure, but they were all from Sherlock's closed cases, and there certainly wasn't a big yellow post-it marking a file with bold letters spelling out 'LOOK HERE'. What John had was a list of names of people defiantly involved in Moriarty's ring most of which could be found in prison or in the cemetery. This was probably the first time that John cursed Sherlock for being too good at his job, he hadn't left anyone he could contact not even a small case where there was no evidence to convict. Sherlock always found the evidence.

Still it felt good to be out the flat, to be making a start even if he wasn't a hundred percent sure where to start. Lestrade had mocked that he couldn't just go up and ask people about Moriarty and expect to get anywhere but that actually wasn't entirely sure. If John asked enough people, ruffled enough feathers he was sure he'd get somewhere. It was an incredibly dangerous strategy, he was more likely to get knifed or shot but there was a chance that he'd get the upper hand somewhere along the line. Despite popular belief John was not suicidal, never had been and the anger he felt from Sherlock's jump knocked out any desire to end his own life. So he would attempt a safer option of Sherlock's homeless network. He wasn't entirely sure how he would go about it

He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and grabbed his coat, glancing around the bare room he wasn't sure whether or not it was a good idea to leave his laptop behind. Making a mental note to remember not to immediately jump on his bed when he returned he wrapped the laptop in a pillow case and slid it under the mattress. Only partly satisfied with his hiding place but knowing it was probably less safe to take it with him he put on his coat and locked the door behind him.

If the matter at hand wasn't so important the tall, dark man would had quirked his lips in a smile at how incredibly simple John was making this for him. Finding the lodgings he had chosen to stay in had been easy enough, following him as he caught the train back into central London even more so as it was approaching rush hour and the carriage was its usual cramped self. From there he had followed the doctor around London as the man awkwardly tried to talk with the homeless and often getting little more than fake information for a couple of quid. John really had no idea how to approach these people and it showed.

Eventually he followed as John began to lurk into the darker areas of London where the beggars began to settle in for the evening. He was eager as he was blind responding to every 'spare change mate?' and 'Big issue! Last one this evening!'. But some spoke with him and directed him to the more populated homeless hangouts.

The tall man knew it was inevitable that John continue until he found someone willing to talk and thought it was best to get ahead. Pulling his collar up to hide his high cheekbones he angled his head so the cap shielded his disguised brown eyes and pushed forward through the crowd, purposely knocking into John as he passed.

"Boody rude arsehole…" John muttered as the stranger knocked into him but didn't cause a fuss. Afterall this was London. He watched as the stranger hurried on ahead, wearing tatty oversized clothes John guessed he was one of the homeless he had been talking to all day. "This is useless, I'm getting no where." He sighed feeling a slight rumble in his stomach he reached into his back pocket to check his funds. A bag of chips would go down a treat right now, but he wanted to make sure he had enough money before committing to that idea.

Frowning as he reached into a now empty pocket he began to frantically pat down his jackets, groaning as it became obvious that his wallet was no longer on his person. "Great! I don't believe this-" He caught sight of the man who had bumped into. Despite being in the distance John caught him turn his head slightly to glance back round and the penny dropped. "Bastard!" John cursed as he jolted forward determined to catch the man that had undoubtedly just pick pocketed him.

The man ran the instant John took off but he was was damned if he was about to let some thieving asshole steal his wallet! The thief turned into the winding back alleys of the city with obvious knowledge of the backstreets of London he had an obvious advantage. But John was a trained solider, albeit a little out of practise he still had the stamina to keep up the chase. So consumed with catching up John hadn't noticed that every time the man was out of sight he would reappear shortly after if still obviously out of reach.

The surroundings grew darker, a sign that they were moving away from the city. John began to wonder if his wallet was really worth it as his lungs burned for air. "Damnit.." He gasped as he slowed down, grabbing the stitch in his side. A nearby street lamp flickered and he glanced up, stopping to regain his breath and admitting defeat he scanned the distance for the now richer man.

The dark silhouette in the distance had jumped a fence, stopped and turned. Anger welled up within John as he straightened his back, equally annoyed with himself for not being able to keep up. "Come on, just give it back. Its my wallet." He hated how feeble that sounded, and wish he had his gun to add strength to those weak words. No, scratch that, he was glad he didn't have his gun on him right now. Shooting someone would only piss Lestrade off and his wallet would be useless in prison anyway. The thief hadn't moved and John made as if he was about to regain the chase. Before he could two pairs of strong hands were upon him, yanking him into a vicious headlock. He yelled out in surprised as he tried to pull the men off him, wriggling and stamping his way into freedom.

But the two men were strong and had caught him by surprise. "Get off me!" He frantically demanded as they bore down their weight. Faintly he heard the sound the fence, and of footsteps but his two captors kept his face down. As a pair of well-worm trainers came into view he tried to look up at the wallet-thief but could only hear a gruff voice. "Good job." He congratulated the other two men before reaching forward pulling at John's collar.

"Hands off me!" John snarled as he tried to lash out but he was too tightly secured. His mind flooded with panic as gloved hands grabbed the back of his neck and he felt the sharp pinch of a needle. The blogger tried to call out for help and struggle for freedom one last time but his limbs grew heavy and his vision blurred.

"Help me get him into the car." Were the last words Dr. Watson heard before everything went black.

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**AN- First and foremost I am so sorry for the terrible qaulity of my writing . Please let me know where you feel needs improvment. **

**That aside I hope you're enjoying it so far, haha can you guess who the dark stranger is?** ** Please review 3 lol it motivates me (even more so if you have any ideas for improvements!)**


	3. Chapter Three Should had got a Puppy

**A/N = This took a while to upload, I hope people like where this is going please let me know what you think! As always any advice or help is greatly appriacted 3 thank you all very much for reading if you do!**

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He struggled with carrying the dead weight into the small, farmhouse in the middle of a secluded field. But his fondness for the man, coupled with urgency to get him into the room before the drug faded away fuelled his extra strength. It had only been a couple of days since he tirelessly prepared the garage into suitable habitat for John, the only entrance was via the door that connected to the kitchen. The front main garage door had been bricked up from behind, the entire room insulated and sound proofed.

Before the room had been used for certain… 'guests', and he hadn't be overly bothered about making it comfortable for them. Obviously he had some help from Mycroft in the initial set up of the house, but he had kept the knowledge of John's capture away from him. Mycroft had not been happy that he had been mostly kept out the loop but this was probably over exaggerated as the "British Government" often knew a lot more than he let on.

The tall, dark haired man could feel his limbs trembling as he managed to get through the door, it was tempting to leave him on the floor but he was nothing but determined. John would wake up on the bed that he had gone to the effort to make earlier. However he buckled just shy of the bed, letting out a small gasp as they both went crashing down. Holding his breath he quickly pulled himself onto his elbows and kept completely motionless as John let out a small moan in his drugged stupor. He waited a couple of seconds to make sure John wasn't going to wake (even though he was sure the dosage he had given him would not wear off for another fourteen minutes) before standing up. With a frown and a small mutter of annoyance he grabbed the pillows off the bed and carefully tucked them under John's head.

Crouched over the unconscious man he reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in controlled emotion. He had longed and feared the moment he would be so close to the ex-army doctor once more it felt almost unreal to him, and his chest clenched in what he could only conclude was sentiment. He studied the man's face like had had done so many times before but it had been such a long time and there was so many changes.

Stiffly he stood and pulled his gaze away from the blogger, perhaps for the first time wishing he could just tone down the deductions weaving through his mind palace. Finally he pulled his gaze away and turned towards the door, fists clenched. There were essentially two doors, the first he locked behind him was more a gate with enough of a gap underneath for him to pass food under but not enough for anyone to escape through (even himself, and he was far more lean than John). The second, far more solid had a small rectangular window he could look through, but also a blind he could pull down if he needed to.

"If I had known you wanted a pet so badly I would had bought you a puppy." He was stilled by an amused voice. Taking a moment to recover from what he would deny was surprise he turned round after pulling down the blind to face his intruder. Well, hardly an intruder… this man technically owned the house.

"I've never had time for your pointless remarks, this is no exception." Came his curt reply as he pushed passed Mycroft.

"This isn't exactly what the room was prepared for, Sherlock." Despite his younger brother's reprimand he continued walked towards the door he lifted the blind and glanced in on John before closing it again.

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John woke in a haze, his vision clearing to reveal a dimly lit room, his head cushioned he assumed he was in a bed. That was until he tried to stand, his bones protesting at the effort made it obvious he had been asleep on the floor. "What the-" He used the back of his hand to wiped his brow as he took a moment to take in the surrounding. Had he fallen asleep? No… That wasn't it, he had chasing some asshole who stole his wallet, then? Some people jumped him? It all came rushing back and his hand shot to his neck where he remembered the needle had been jabbed into. Quickly he jumped to his feet, faltering slightly as he experienced head rush. He frowned starring at first at the bed behind him, then at the bookcase lined with books. His main light source at the moment came from vintage-looking lamp on the bedside cabinet but looking up he spotted an unlit bulb hanging from the ceiling. The thick green rug looked very out of place on the cold concrete floor, but not as much as the chair. "Oh God is that my chair?"

Gingerly he approached the old worn armchair, his eyes widening as if he expected it to spout legs and run around the room. It was even complete with union jack cushion. He reached out a hand and touched the familiar fabric, testing it. "Right! Ok. What is going on?" John's confusion was now replaced with anger and panic, what the hell was going on here? Spotting the door he left the chair to try his luck, knowing it would be locked before his hand even touched the handle.

The metal bars in front of the solid wooden door should had been enough of a deterrent. There were no other doors, no windows -this- was the only exit. Grabbing the bars he violently shook them, releasing an animalistic yell. "Let me out!" He demanded, his voice rolling like thunder. The situation wasn't just dangerous, but creepy. Someone obviously knew who he was, had taken the trouble to brag his bloody chair from Baker's street. In such blind panic John hadn't even considered taking a tactful approach, his instincts took over.

So consumed he did not hear the click of the lock, and it wasn't until the handle turned and the force of his pounding fist pushed the door open that he stopped his assault it's wooden surface. Despite the other side being in almost pitch blackness he reached through the bars blindly grabbing for the person who opened the door. "Who are you? Let me out!" He demanded as his hand failed to grab purchase. From the safety of behind the door John could make out a tall, dark frame but the features were lost in the darkness behind.

"You mustn't waste your energy, the door is too solid." Came a stern voice, frowning John thought he recognised it, certainly he recognised there was a slight Scottish accent. Knowing what the man said to be truth he lowered his hand, trying to strain his eyes to see his captor.

"Why am I here?" He replied, his own voice strong and steady and prepared for the worse. Just seeing (albeit not much) and hearing another person seemed to have a calming affect on the doctor. At least there was a chance to get some answers, even if something such as torture followed after.

Torture. John's steeled his mind against the threat that whoever this was wanted information, and was prepared to hurt him for it. Surly it was no coincidence he was abducted the very night he decided to search for Moriarty's crime syndicate.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Dr. Watson. This is for your own good." The voice sounded strained, and for a split second he thought he heard that accent falter slightly.

"What do you know about what's good for me?" John spat waving at the room behind him. "What is all this? And my bloody chair?"

"I want you to be comfortable. No doubt you're going to be here for a while. Now get some rest, it's only six am."

"No!" Panic wormed its way back into his throat as the man began to close the door once more. Not wanting to be left alone for God knows how long he forced his hands out towards the door. But the awkward position of the bars plus the fact he was caught slightly unawares meant that he didn't have enough time to put up enough resistance and the door was quickly locked. "Damn it! No!" He smacked his fist against the wood, his body trembling. What the hell was going on here? Almost unwillingly he found himself turning round his eyes falling once more upon that armchair.

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"That went well." Mycroft commented as Sherlock entered the front room. The older Holmes had refused to sit, but with little better than garden furniture to accommodate him it was no surprise. "Scottish?" His eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

"Oh shut up Mycroft." Came his pouty response. "What do you have on Moran?" He wanted to change the subject away from John as quickly as possible. Besides after he had dealt with Moran, all of _-this-_ will finally be over.


	4. Chapter Four Memories

**AN - Here's another chapter! Thank you to everyone who read the other chapters and I hope you enjoy this one =D Sorry it's not very long, Im trying to pace it out, please let me know if you find it boring (though I hope you don't!) **_  
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_John's fingers furiously clicked across the keys of his laptop refusing to look up at the man he knew sat starring opposite. "Oh come on John, you're not even typing words now. At least attempt to veil your bad mood in a suitable disguise." A voice huffed, ironically displaying being in the bigger sulk himself._

_"I'm not-" John stopped himself as he realised his voice was too loud and lowered the tone slightly. "Im not in a bad mood just leave it ok? I'll cool off in a minute." He spoke a little more calmly though his fingers still tapped the base of the laptop in irritation._

_"I told you-"_

_"No you didn't."_

_"Yes. Yes I did John, I told you I would be gone, you just didn't listen. Hardly my fault you decided getting a shop in was more important. What is your obsession with fresh milk?"_

_"You just don't get it do you?" John finally snapped, closing the laptop and almost slamming it on the arm of his chair. "I was worried about you Sherlock! Almost two weeks, not a word! You didn't even answer your damn phone!" Leaning forward he wrung his hands together, exercising all his self control not to grab the younger man by the shoulders and shake him._

_"Why would you be worried about me?" He spat, crossing his arms and he looked away, finding a suitable distraction on the wall so not to meet John's disbelieving eyes._

_"Why would I-? Right, no reason. Go off and get yourself killed next time, doesn't make a difference to me! In fact I'd get on better without you, no gunshots in the middle of the night, no psychopaths strapping bombs to me and best of all? No more inconsiderate, selfish housemate who thinks the whole world revolves around him and his damn puzzles!" During his speech John's words grew louder and more angry until he was standing over Sherlock pointing his finger a couple of inches away from his nose. The young consulting detective had turned to look at John as he approached, his strange blue/green eyes starring wide eyed back up at him. Many times John marvelled at Sherlock's interlect, that brain was truly a wonderful, if sometimes terrifying, phenomenon. Within in a matter of minutes of their first meeting he had deduced most of John's life history from what seemed like the smallest details. But right now he was shocked at how utterly clueless he appeared. Begrudgingly John felt his anger waver._

_"You were worried that I wouldn't come back?" Sherlock finally replied, his voice tight as if he didn't want to admit his failure in this argument._

_"Excellent deduction." John sighed moving back to his armchair and placing the laptop back on his lap. After a few moments of silence he heard Sherlock clear his throat._

_"I was perfectly safe."_

_"Sherlock. Your idea of safe is not the same idea as mine." John closed his eyes, trying his best to regain his patience._

_"I'm sorry if I worried you John." He finally said having exhausted any other defence. Taken aback John looked back at the young man who had regained his sulking position of arms crossed and pulled close to his chest as he kept his sharp gazed on the ceiling. He could help a small smile, despite that huge brain of his Sherlock was very much still a child in his eyes._

_"Apology accepted. Just try and promise you'll tell me next time. A 'goodbye, see you later' is all I ask." He put the laptop back on the arm of the chair again and stood up. "Tea?"_

_"Love one."_

* * *

_John's heart clenched as he heard those dreadful last words before his best friend hung up the phone and tossed it to one side. "Goodbye, John."_

* * *

"Sherlock!" John was woken by his own cry as he lunged forward his hand grasping at nothing but air. Wildly he looked around as if expecting to still be on that pavement outside St. Bart's. After a few moments he recognise where he was, and with a groan he remembered the bizarre situation he was in. Placing his face in his hands he took a few deep breaths, doing his best to control his trembling hands cursing at the memories that had plagued him in his sleep.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally managed to gather himself together and stood from where he had fallen asleep in the chair.

Obviously John had not gone to sleep he was instructed straight away but had explored every inch of the room. He was both disturbed and relieved to find a bucket and a can of air freshener tucked behind a privacy divider that was in the corner of the room. Under the bed was a box of clothes, all brand new but the right size, the few books on the shelves were also to his taste. Whoever his captor was knew him very well, and intended to keep him here for a while. Everything about this situation sent alarm bells in his head ringing, but the more he explored, doubled checked and tripled checked John knew the only way was through that door.

He had quickly gave up on the banging until his fists bled strategy, he wasn't stupid enough to think that would work past irritating the man on the other side. John needed to think, to plan. He sat in his chair, hating that he was somehow comforted by the familiarity of it. All of this was getting out of hand, and while he had missed the excitement of the adventures he had with his friend John now found they were far less fulfilling when by himself. Putting his face in his hands he rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't sure about the time but a good few hours must had passed by this point and he was just so tired. His head throbbed , eyes stung and stomach wrung. It had been a couple of hours before he had fallen asleep, and now that he was awake again he had completely lost track of all time.

John's attention suddenly perked up as he heard the sound of the door unlocking, but knowing unless the gate was also unlocked barging through would not work. So patiently he waited, his keen eyes trained on the door. Defiantly a man of action, he also had the good sense to know when to sit still and wait and see.

Someone from the other side wordlessly slid a tray of food under the gate. "Wait!" John called out, not moving from his chair as he slowly stood, careful not to spook the food bringer into slamming the door shut. "At least tell me what this is about." His voice a strange mix of demanding and pleading. The stranger lingered, John could just about make out a shadow.

"This is for your safety Dr. Watson."

"Do you work for Moriarty?" He instantly snapped back, the idea of 'being for his own safety' irritated him more than the thought of being locked up to begin with.

"Moriarty is dead." The voice replied, carefully closing the door a little more but keeping it open just a crack.

"Hm, what a wonderful way of not answering my question." Shaking his head he took another step closer. "How long you going to keep me in here?" He decided to ask something else, knowing there was no use flogging a dead horse.

"Until it is safe." The slight Scottish voice sighed in exasperation. The army doctor raised an eyebrow, noting that this man, although fairly uncooperative, seemed reluctant to leave. Looking down at the food he wasn't surprised to see it was one of his favourite foods. This weirdo seemed to had figured out everything else about him, why not his favourite food?

"Heh, I suppose it's no use asking for a more precise date?"

"No." Short, to the point. Reminded John of someone. "Enjoy your dinner." There was something in the arrogance of that voice that made John loose his cool.

"Damn it! What the fuck is going on here? I mean seriously, you drug me, kidnap me then lock me in a creepy room and expect me to '_enjoy my dinner?'_" Marching up to the tray on the floor he kicked it, sending it splattering up against the bars and the second door. "All of this can go to hell!"

The door shut immediately after John's outburst leaving him alone once more.

On the other side of the door Sherlock leant his lean frame against the door feeling the vibrations of John's pounding fists on upon the wood from the other side. "I'm sorry John." He knew he wouldn't be heard through the door, even if it wasn't sound proofed John was making enough racket to drown out any other sounds.

* * *

**A/N: Ahhh! I hope this is ok! I've got a horrible feeling this is dragging on or that I'm totally failing at the characters but I promise there is more of a plot here than 'Sherlock locks John up and feeds him." Honest! Again, I'd be really grateful for any advice on this, haha since its painfully obvious how much of a novice I am at fan fiction. Any help and I swear, I'll love you forever!**


	5. Chapter 5 The Woman

**[[AN = first of all I am so sorry this update has taken so long. Honestly I had given up on it since I felt I wasn't doing the characters justice but I was reminded recently that despite that worry I had actually enjoyed writing this and that's all that really matters really =] and of course that my readers enjoy it also (lol if there's anyone still willing to read it that is!)**

**So yeah, again so sorry and I promise there wont be as long a wait for the next chapter. Enjoy-!]]**

* * *

His host didn't return that day and John found himself regretting kicking the food. He was bloody hungry having not eaten much the day of his capture and the smell of the Chinese curry now splattered over the door pulled at his stomach. Time passed and after an unknown amount of hours he had fallen asleep again, but thankfully it was a dreamless slumber.

* * *

Sherlock was beginning to see the flaws in his brilliant plan and it was only the first day. Grabbing his coat he stepped out of the isolated house in a discreet location, glancing back at the garage where he had left John sleeping. His old roommate was far too feisty but had he really expected a complacent John to just sit down and accept that he had just been trapped like an animal? John was a different man from before, well they both were. He was surprised at how quickly John had blown up, and he had also expected John's survival instincts to prevent him from kicking over the food, after all he should be concentrating on keeping his strength up for the chance to escape.

Of course there were no chance of escape, Sherlock had thought of everything that John could use and he was being extra careful. A part of him was proud of how well thought out everything (in respects to the preparation of the room) but a larger part of him really wanted to reveal how clever he had been and to listen to his friend marvel. Sherlock smirked slightly at that thought, he was pretty sure if all worked out and he did finally tell John, a 'well done' wouldn't be the words his old housemate would use.

Shifting uncomfortably in his tatty puffer jacket he got into the equally tattered car and began the drive into East Croydon, which was about half an hour drive. Sherlock hated driving, it meant his attention was required on the road when his mind was already racing with thoughts and theories of far more interest than whether the damn light was red or green. But despite popular belief he knew when he needed help, and there was only so much he could do as far as John was concerned. He could not risk his identity being discovered, and seeing that John was likely to jump him as soon as he dared to enter the room there was really nothing short of buying a tranquilising gun he could do. As albeit that thought had crossed his mind but that would only work for as long as it took John to figure out to build a fort to hide behind.

Pulling up outside a questionable block of flats he exited the car and locked it behind him. Giving the area he would be surprised if it still had all four wheels when he returned but doubted anyone would go to the effort of stealing the whole thing. Not so much as glancing at the groups of youths that huddled round various parts across the estate he marched straight to the stairwell and continued his quickened pace to the 5th level.

Sherlock had visited this place only twice before despite the resident living here for over a three months now and sending many text requesting he pop in. He knocked and waited all of three seconds be pulling out a key and unlocking the door. His attempt of entry was foiled by the chain on the other side. "It's me." He rolled his eyes and stepped back. A second later the door was shut, he heard the chain being released and so he reopened the door.

"You can hardly blame me, this disgusting place is filled with filthy miscreants." Was his welcome into the apartment. In front of his stood a rather tired looking Miss Adler. Her hair, now dyed a much lighter brown than when he had first met her had been cut and styled in a way that could easily shield her distinguishable bone structure, and her eyes now sporting the same colour brown lenses that Sherlock wore.

Despite her surroundings and the slight bags under her eyes Irene kept the same class and sophistication she had always commanded, not a strand of hair was out of place and although the makeup was more natural in colour it was applied perfectly, her nails well manicured and her clothes crisp. "You're looking well." Was Sherlock's response he made himself at home, sitting down in front of the clunky television he would wager hadn't been turned on since it's appearance in the flat. Irene may had kept her appearance pristine but the surroundings in which she now lived left much to be desired.

She smirked slightly, striding over to where he sat she place a kiss on his cheek to which he just rolled his eyes. "I keep the Primark clothes for going out. I don't see why I should sacrifice my high standard in fashion all the time."

"Only when it public. Seems counter-productive." He hated small talk, but knew he had to suffer through a certain amount of it before he could expect her to turn to more important matters.

"Being dead has it downside." She chuckled and took to the worn-out armchair opposite him. "London is a dangerous place, for both of us. I much preferred my time in Prague, far easier to blend in tastefully there." She leaned back and crossed her legs taking in his appearance also. This was always the fun bit of meeting him after what had been over a month now. She tried to guess how much work he had achieved since they last met, and how much of his current disguise was relevant. He in turn he was taking these few silent seconds to do the same.

"I see you haven't been in contact with your clients yet. Less loyal than you guessed I presume." He got there first, and as usual he was spot on.

"I only followed you back to London to help." She snapped a bit too sharply back at him.

"He's dangerous to both of us and you have as much to gain from his disappearance than I." Sherlock scoffed, it irritated when she pretended that he would be the only one to benefit. True, she had had enough contacts over the world to start up her questionable business once more, and though he had chosen to keep out of it he was well aware of the fact that she still played, if a bit more quietly, her silly little games with the weaker-willed. But she was wise enough to keep out of London, away from the thick of Mycroft's attention, and of course from Moriarty as well. But now Moriarty was dead, and Sherlock's older brother was otherwise distracted than everyone involved had seem to had forgotten the death of what the had considered a minor player.

If it all wasn't so frightfully obvious Sherlock would be amused at how his opponents seem to constantly underestimate the quieter pawns. John, Molly and now even Irene.

After a few more moments of not uncomfortable silence Irene's thin lips finally curled into a smile. "So are you here to request my services? I still have our special whip, I reserved it especially for you."

"Don't be boring." He reprimanded. "But yes, I am here for what you can offer. I suggest we leave before my car is burnt out." He took to his feet he glanced once more around the dingy flat. "If there's anything of importance I suggest you gather it quickly. I won't be bringing you back here for a while."

"Oh, thank god." She stood quickly, genuine relief in her voice. "I'll get my makeup. You can send someone for my clothes later."

"Oh I'm sure you can find your way to another Primark." He couldn't resist and even smiled slightly at her venomous glare.

* * *

Irene glanced through the small window, raising a well-groomed eyebrow as she closed the blind once more. "Heh, I suppose I don't know what everyone likes afterall. I never would had guessed you were into the whole master-slave fetish." She raised a hand to her chin and looked him up and down. "Hmm, well at least I know where to start now."

Sherlock didn't bother to respond to her observation, he never had time for such comments before and he certainly didn't have time for them now. "I need you to clean up that mess, and help keep him under control."

"And what makes you think I for one will be satisfied with being reduced to a common housemaid? Find someone else." She scoffed and began to walk out the kitchen but he stepped into the doorway blocking her exit.

"You need Moran out of your way as much as I. I can not do this while I'm keeping an eye on him surly the equation is obvious to you? Or have your mind began to soften in that estate?" He was loosing his temper now but not so much so that he had forgotten to keep his voice low.

"Why not just tell him you're alive, would be a lot easier." She finally sighed as her sharp stare softened as she recognise the desperation in his voice.

"It's obvious enough that I do not have to waste my breath to explain it." He raised a weary hand to his head and rubbed his temples slightly.

"I suppose it is." She glanced back at the door. When she had looked inside John had been sleeping in the armchair she had recognised as the same one they had had in Baker Street. "He'll recognise me, and he might make the connection. You should get one of your homeless network to do the job, they're all faceless to him."

"Its been years since your death, and John would have enough trouble recognising your features without the veil of your current disguise. It is after all very well done."

"You recognised me." She protested, remembering their first meeting almost a year after he had rescued her from being beheaded. She had been staying in Paris where he had recognised her in the busy street and followed her back to her home.

"My eye is much sharper than John's… Besides, I had more reason to remember you Miss Adler." She smiled, that was all the flattery she needed (and probably the most she ever expected).

"Fine. I'll help for a month, then I'm going to America. There's an ambassador there and I know what he likes." She agreed. If it was obvious to Sherlock that the declaration of her next destination was false he didn't show it. He simply nodded, the most she could expect as a thank you.

"I'll show you to the room upstairs you can have."

Sherlock was obviously not stupid enough to fully trust her but he had so very few people he could trust with John. Irene may have proved extremely untrustworthy in the past but she had shielded him when he had been wounded in France, despite being presented an opportunity to finally come out of hiding. He also knew she could enjoy this chance to test out her disguise and play along when London was currently so boring for her at present.


End file.
